<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Lay My Curses All To Rest by Agent_Scribe</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954928">Lay My Curses All To Rest</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Scribe/pseuds/Agent_Scribe'>Agent_Scribe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What If... [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Read at Your Own Risk, ep 162, this is pretty damn dark folks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:34:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Scribe/pseuds/Agent_Scribe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon knows what the cabin is. Jon decides not to leave. Jon has had enough.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What If... [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806064</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lay My Curses All To Rest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from Curses by The Crane Wives</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jon knows what the cottage is. It all poured out of him into the tape, the one gently spinning its tiny wheels in the tape recorder now. He finds...he can’t bring himself to care. He can’t muster the emotional wherewithal to want to leave. Sure, that’s what the Eye wants. But he’s done what the Eye wants for so long. He just...wants to rest. Fighting, it takes so much. So much willpower, so much energy, so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>hope</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jon doesn’t have any of those things, no any more. Not since Jonah’s words scraped his throat raw, not since the end of the world poured out of him, thick and cruel and painful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m a monster</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jon thinks, watching the wheels of the tape spin. The cabin creaks. Something thumps against one of the walls. Jon shudders, closing his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into them until they </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. With the pain memories flash through his mind - Gertrude’s voice on the tape, Eric Delano </span>
  <em>
    <span>“as long as they’re useless,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Martin </span>
  <em>
    <span>“what are you going to do, gouge your eyes out?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d had hope, before. Just days before, maybe, he doesn’t know, time is </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> now. Hope that he wouldn’t have to do anything so drastic, hope that he and Martin could carve a life out, could cling to each other hard enough to mitigate the monster in both of them. Now he had nothing; no hope; no joy; only guilt, endless guilt and helplessness. There’s nothing, nothing worth fighting for. Well, there is Martin. Jon doesn’t even have to turn his head to See Martin, lying in the bedroom and staring up at the ceiling. He hasn’t seemed himself, has been drifting off, but not in the sleeping way. Jon will call his name or reach for him and Martin won’t even notice. It’s like he’s off in his own world. Jon doesn’t blame him. Why would Martin want to stay present, here, in this world? </span>
</p><p><span>Jon presses harder on his eyes, gritting his teeth. Blinding himself would do no good now. It wouldn’t change anything. Nothing Jon could do would change </span><em><span>anything</span></em><span>. The most he could hope for would be catharsis, maybe. And what’s the point of catharsis at the end of the world? </span><em><span>Just going to die eventually, anyway</span></em><span>. ...</span><em><span>Or am I?</span></em><span> A shudder shakes him as he thinks, </span><em><span>will I even die?</span></em> <em><span>Ever?</span></em><span> He doesn’t know. His sweating slightly, trying to ignore the tug of The Eye, ignore the urge to Know. That’s not knowledge he wants. It would mean facing, headon, the horror of existing for eternity in a world he’d frozen in time and space, in a world where he’d fed all of humanity to their worst fears. His hands are shaking, his fingers digging into his forehead. “I can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t do this.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Jon?” It’s Martin, sounding far away and sleepy. “Jon, where are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here Martin!” Jon calls, dragging his hands away from his eyes, turning in the direction of the voice. But Martin isn’t there. “Martin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon? Jon!” Martin’s voice is even more distant. “Jon, did you open a window? There’s so much fog.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon stands, forcing every bit of moment. His breathing is coming quick and shallow. “Martin? Martin where are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Martin!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon, I don’t know where I am!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Jon walks towards the bedroom. He already knows what he’ll see there. He has to check. The bed is empty. Where Martin had been laying is a single wisp of fog. “</span>
  <b>Martin!</b>
  <span>” Jon screams, the word ripping through his raw throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t even find a comfortable chair....” Martin’s voice is tinny, faint, a slight vibration in the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon slides to the ground, gasping for breath. “Martin…” His chest </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “No, no, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, no you can’t have him!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he growls, dragging himself upright. “You can’t have him because he is </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not yours!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not any more!” He reaches a shaking hand towards the wisp of fog. It disappears as his fingers pass through it. “</span>
  <b>Give him back!</b>
  <span>” Jon roars, feeling the full power of The Eye tear through his body. For a moment the walls of the cabin flicker and he sees fog, he sees the inside of a house. Then the walls of the cabin close in again, and they are much closer this time. They are breathing; pulsing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon stumbles forward, his knees hitting the edge of the bed. He falls onto it, sobbing. “No, no you can’t have him… You can’t have my Martin. He’s mine...he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The cabin creaks and groans. Jon closes his eyes. Nothing to live for. Nothing to leave for. He doesn’t care what The Eye wants, he isn’t going anywhere without Martin. And he isn’t getting Martin back. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>